Marauding: The Beginning
by cable runner
Summary: Join Sirius, Remus, James and Peter for a ten chapter prologue to their first adventure-filled year of school. Starting on each of their 11th Birthdays, how will each member of the group react when they receive their Hogwarts acceptance letter? Will everything go as smoothly as planned? Owls, presents, pranks, magic and more inside. (All reviews are appreciated and replied to asap)
1. The Beginning

The story of the Marauders told from the very beginning. Starting on each of their 11th Birthdays. How will each member of the group react when they receive their Hogwarts acceptance letter? And how soon will they become the fast friends and Marauders we all know and love? Beware, potential Dungbomb pranks in the near future.

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**_"The best birthdays of all are those that haven't arrived yet."_**  
_- Author Unknown _

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Sirius Black was bored. He had been roused from his sleep for the third time on this particular morning by a strong feeling of mounting anticipation. His bedroom was unsurprisingly still dark, the thick velvet curtains blocking out any hint of light from dim glow of the street lamps outside. The sun would not be up for another hour at least; the cold November morning's had a habit of clinging on to the last shred of darkness until it was absolutely necessary to let go.

Sirius glanced up at the antique clock on his wall for what must have been the hundredth time. The minute hand still rested infuriatingly near the twelve. 6 o'clock. He sighed, more out of irritation than longing now. If he was honest, he wasn't even that excited for his actual birthday, which would once again be filled with formal visits from Aunts, Uncles and countless cousins he barely knew or simply despised. He would once again have to listen to them prattle on about blood supremacy, Dumbledore being unfit to run Hogwarts, (too many 'Mudbloods apparently) and who was next to be married off to another high status pureblood family, among many other dour subjects.

No, Sirius was excited for the chance to be free of his parent's strict, prejudiced stance on society. This birthday would finally bring his letter and opportunity to escape. He stood up gingerly, pacing to and fro from his bed to the door with his hands behind his back. He had memorised all the spots on the warped wood flooring that would allow him to cross without permitting a highly audible creak. The groaning and protestations from the old victorian terrace was far too reminiscent of the family's house elf as he grumbled and wheezed around the building, and Sirius was glad to avoid it. Dodging the loosest and loudest floorboard in his bedroom and rocking backwards and forwards lightly on the balls of his feet, he rested his hand on the tarnished doorknob.

Logically, Sirius knew the post owl would not be here until 8 o'clock at the earliest and getting caught wandering the house before then could potentially get him in a lot of trouble. He could practically smell the parchment though; keeping this thought firmly in his mind he squeezed the handle hard and frowned, his lengthy black hair falling over his eyes. With all the self control he could muster _-which in Sirius' case really wasn't all that much_, he released the doorknob slowly and turned away. After padding carefully back across the room, he threw himself ungracefully onto his bed and closed his eyes, imagining the feel of the letter in his hand, letting the overwhelming sense of freedom fill him up. Smiling wryly to himself, Sirius tried fitfully to return to sleep once more and allow the waiting game to finally be over.

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Remus Lupin opened his eyes slowly, struggling to grow accustomed to the bright morning sunlight seeping through the drapes on his bedroom window. He was tired. The next full moon was now only two days away, March 12th was marked on his calendar with a small black dot. A small reminder of the dreaded event he had coming up and would continue to occur every 29 and a half days for the rest of his life. He exhaled, not surprised that he was beginning to feel the similar aches and pains, although thankfully the worst had not yet arrived. He smiled faintly to himself, glad that at least on this particular occasion the moon cycle didn't fully interfere with his birthday.

He was dragged away from his thoughts by the sound of his Mother exclaiming tenderly "Oh, Remus dear, you're awake! Happy Birthday! I was going to let you sleep in a little longer but your father was adamant that you shouldn't waste any more of your birthday laid up in here."

Brushing his hair out of his eyes with her thumb, she spoke softly, "Come downstairs in a minute, I've got your favourite breakfast all ready." She smiled at him kindly, before turning away and disappearing through the door.

Remus sat up, stretching out the knots and kinks in his back. Swinging his legs gently off the bed, he collected his dressing gown and padded across the landing, beginning his slow decent of the stairs. He secretly hoped his parents hadn't gone to too much trouble this year. He was more aware of his family's financial struggles than he let on. Knowing full well that they didn't have much money to spare and he would be wracked with guilt if he had to accept a present that he knew was beyond their means.

Another pang of despair hit him as he reached the bottom step, this birthday should be a special birthday for someone like him_ –a wizard_, but now being '_someone like him_' had a completely different meaning; a meaning that didn't bode well with the rest of the Wizarding World. He briefly surveying the warm kitchen that contained his dear Mother and Father, and presented them with a little smile, filled with the insecurities that lurked within him. Remus glanced past them at the Post Owl perched on the windowsill, and knew that none of small batch of letters it had just deposited would contain the message he so desperately wished for.

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James Potter awoke hurriedly on the morning of March 27th, so hurriedly in fact that he all but stopped himself from rolling off his bed and landing on the floor with a splendid crash. Scrambling up off the wooden floor he hastily reached for his glasses, balanced precariously on top of a pile consisting of far too many Chocolate Frog cards, a Dung Bomb, an open box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans _–which may or may not have also contained a few owl treats_, last week's copy of Quidditch Weekly, and a few items that looked like they shouldn't even belong on the bedside table of an eleven year old boy.

Racing down the stairs, and somewhat gracefully managing to trip over the rug in the hallway, James smiled gleefully to himself. He didn't think he could cope if had had to wait one day longer. The muffled voices of Mr and Mrs Potter worked their way downstairs and James realised his rather noisy antics had woken up his parents. He was vaguely aware that his parents rather preferred to wake up slightly later on a weekend, but considering the special circumstances of the day he didn't spare that another thought. It was his birthday, but more importantly it was his 11th birthday!

Trying not to lose it completely and start running round the kitchen singing "Happy Birthday to me!" at the top of his lungs, he thrust all his pent up anticipation at the large window above the sink, and pushed it open with all his might. Squinting hard through his round spectacles at the horizon, and more significantly the tell-tale glimpse of this morning's Post Owl, James was distantly aware of his parent's voices drawing closer and the unmistakable sound of his Father's throaty chuckle.

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Peter Pettigrew rolled over in his sleep, snoring peacefully and remaining, at this moment blissfully unaware that today was a very important day indeed. Shifting around under his duvet once more, he let out a quite frankly monstrous snore for someone so small, and shocked himself awake. He blinked rapidly several times before his watery blue eyes flicked up to the calendar on the wall, following along the rows of crossed off boxes before stopping on the date circled in red pen. Throwing off the covers, he scampered downstairs, filled with excitement for presents and family and cake.

The thought of cake lingered in his mind for a lengthy amount of time before being pushed roughly aside and replaced with the knowledge that today wasn't just his birthday. After his Mother and older brothers, Peter would be the first to admit that he wasn't particularly adept at the kind of uncontrolled magic one would usually see in wizarding children. It wasn't until he was eight years old that Peter had actually done something remotely impressive, something that made his Mother no longer doubt he was a squib.

That particular incident had involved a door slamming in his Mother's face and the conjuring of a denied pudding from the fridge downstairs, into his lap upstairs. Although his Mother had been immensely proud of him in that moment, they didn't really talk about it very much as he had got into quite a lot of trouble afterwards. Now, as he let himself into the kitchen, he clung onto that memory and tried not to squeak in fear when he came face to face with the Post Owl.

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**_Thank you for reading. Reviews would be splendid. Full chapter on Sirius Black's birthday next. _**


	2. Sirius Black's Birthday

**_"The manner of giving is worth more than the gift."_**  
_- Pierre Cornielle_

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"Sirius! Sirius!"

Regulus Black bounded into the older boy's bedroom barely bothering to knock before flinging the door open. Sirius snorted awake, his unfocused eyes squinted at the bouncing mass of dark hair and loud noises in front of him. "I'm awake Reg! What is it?"

"It's here! It's here and it's in the kitchen and I wanted to open it for you but Mother said not to because it's yours, so I didn't and I came up here to tell you so you can-"

"Reg, what are you harping on about? What's in the kitchen?" Sirius interrupted, frowning at the younger boy.

"Your letter, Sirius! From Hogwarts!"

Sirius sat bolt upright on his bed, wide awake. He glanced back up at the clock on the wall which was about to strike half past eight.

"Half past eight!? But I wasn't even asleep!" Sirius shouted at no one in particular.

"You were asleep, I came in and you were drooling." Regulus countered.

"Shut up Reg, I don't drool," Sirius pointed a look at his brother, wiping his hand across his mouth and casting a cursory glance to double check for any tell tale signs of salivate anyway. Coming to his senses, Sirius' head shot up, "What are we still doing in here Reg? To the kitchen!"

The pair vaulted down the two flights of stairs that separated Sirius' bedroom from the ground floor and skidded along the well polished hallway floor. Sirius pushed his younger brother behind him as he straightened up and entered the kitchen in as dignified a manor as possible for someone positively buzzing with excitement.

Sirius nodded to the man and woman sat down at the long dining table, "Mother, Father."

The woman, whom Sirius and Regulus referred to as 'Mother' had her thin dark hair pulled up into a severe knot at the top of her head - possibly an attempt to create the illusion that her face had less wrinkles than it really did. Her pinched mouth attempted what was meant to be a smile of greeting, but failed miserably. Her eyes warmed for only the slightest of seconds - which against her narrow penciled eyebrows was still difficult to notice - before her entire face resumed it's natural position of harsh rigidity.

"I believe Sirius," she began beckoning him forward with a wave of her highly manicured hand, "that a very important letter arrived for you this morning."

Sirius nodded enthusiastically, and strolled down the length of the kitchen towards Walburga and Orion Black, "Yes Mother."

He sat down earnestly in the nearest seat beside his Father, who was currently perusing the mornings Daily Prophet. His dark hair was tinged with streaks of grey and the thick black goatee that grew on his rugged face allowed him to pull of the distinguished look of an upper class gentleman, especially in his pressed white shirt and dark green cravat.

Walburga Black slid the Hogwarts acceptance letter across the table into Sirius' awaiting hands.

Regulus was at this point sat on his Mother's side eagerly overlooking the situation with a large grin plastered across his face, "Go on, you can open it now!"

His Mother shot him a dark look that clearly conveyed the message that he should be quiet; Regulus' smile faltered a little bit and he sat further back in his chair.

Orion folded and placed his paper onto the table before turning to look towards Sirius' expectant face.

Excited hands pulled at the red wax stamp, opening the envelope before slowly extracting the fresh parchment that sealed Sirius' fate in the Wizaring world. Sirius' face broke into a triumphant smile as he read the opening line he had been waiting so long for.

_Dear Mr Black, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_.

Sirius scanned quickly through the remaining contents of the letter, briefly pausing to offer acknowledgement at the list of titles Dumbledore had under his belt; _although he couldn't help but wonder what even was a Supreme Mugwump?_ His eyes flicked back and forth through the main body of text - _clothes, clothes, clothes, books, books, boo- Arsenius Jigger? Who would name their child Arsenius? That's worse than half the names_ _in _this_ family._

_More books, other equipment! A wand! That's more like it!_ Sirius' grin widened again as he thought about finally being able to purchase a wand at Ollivanders. The prospect of being able to do proper magic, not just accidentally sticking Regulus to the wall when he was in a bad mood was enthralling.

Sirius chuckled inwardly at this thought before he stumbled across _'Students may also bring an Owl OR a Cat OR a Toad.'_

The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black did indeed have a few Eagle Owls in the loft, none of which however actually belonged to Sirius._ Perhaps he would be given one of those? Or maybe he could get a new owl of his own._ The current Black family owls did have an air of aloofness about them. Snobbery and birds of prey weren't the best combination.

A new owl then, he hoped as he read the penultimate line about broomsticks, or - as he reread the sentence, lack of them. He frowned, _the rule about first years not being allowed brooms was utterly preposterous. He would very much have something to say about that when he arrived at Hogwarts, perhaps he could he sneak his broom in?_

Orion clapped his son on the back most unaffectionately. "Everything seems to be in order doesn't it boy?" If the jolt to the back didn't break Sirius' train of thought then his Father's deep booming voice certainly did.

"Yes, Father," he glanced up at his parents and smiled appreciatively; though a little voice in the back of his head was reminding him that they didn't actually do anything, "When can we go to Diagon Alley to get all of this?"

"You forget Son, it is only November; you still have 10 months before Hogwarts begins. Though I think," he replied, "We shall buy some of your books and such at the start of the Christmas holidays whilst Diagon Alley is relatively quiet."

His Mother nodded speculatively, "Yes, your uniform will have to wait until August, I imagine you still have plenty of growing to do before then," a thin smile touched her lips as she surveyed him from across the table, "Perhaps some new dress robes also, green of course; a nice Slytherin green ready for September."

Sirius swallowed. "Yes of course Mother, thank you."

Sirius had been well trained in the art of etiquette and manners. He knew precisely when a please or thank you was necessary especially in regards to his family, although just because he knew when they were appropriate didn't mean he wanted to say them - particularly to anyone in his family. The cool and mostly well presented exterior gave the perfect opportunity to distract anyone from knowing how Sirius really was on the inside. He secretly despised the formal way he and Regulus had to address their own parents, and extended family members. Oftentimes he felt like a butler or a House Elf. As he grew older he began to loathe their bigoted view of society. It was bad enough that he had to be related to them, but to conform to their ideas of the Wizarding world?_ No. Thank. You._

Walburga Black stood slowly, her body extending like the lengthening stem of some highly carnivorous plant. She adjusted her long black skirt, "Now Sirius, take Regulus back upstairs with you and get washed and dressed. The rest of the family are coming around at 11am and you will be ready and presentable."

Orion stood also, towering over his wife by a good head and a half - and Sirius' Mother was by no means a small woman. "You will after all be the centre of attention and I expect you to receive your gifts and act in the gracious manner we have taught you to. Now go," clutching the Daily Prophet he waved his fisted hand towards the door.

Sirius eyed them reflectively then turned on his heel followed closely by Regulus._ Presents!_ In all the excitement about receiving his Hogwarts letter he'd completely forgotten about his birthday presents. He had to admit one advantage of being a member and heir of a notorious pureblood family was that the gifts did tend to be rather extravagant - even if the gift givers were less than desirable company.

At least, Sirius thought, Narcissa and the vile Bellatrix wouldn't be attending as they were currently studying at Hogwarts - fourth and seventh years respectively. Andromeda wouldn't be there to wish him Happy Birthday either, a fact Sirius wasn't quite so happy about. She was the only normal one out of the lot, apart from Uncle Alphard and Regulus - sometimes.

"Ah, well," said Sirius as he slowed to allow Regulus fall into step with him on their way up the stairs, "every cloud."

"Every cloud what?"

"It's just a phrase, Reggie. Try not to take things so literally," Sirius smiled.

Regulus frowned as they turned the first landing.

"Hey, no more of that! It is my birthday after all," he sighed dreamily, "a day to celebrate the joy my existence brings to everyone, including you." He winked.

Regulus laughed, before realisation dawned on his little face. He largely resembled Sirius, both with their winning smile and black hair. Sirius opted for a longer shaggier look, whereas Regulus' do was just below his ears and neatly combed, most of the time.

Sirius' stormy grey eyes however always had that tell tale glimmer of mischief - when of course he wasn't trapped playing 'yes sir, no sir' with various members of his family. Regulus' eyes on the other hand, always contained a more sombre look, a seriousness that was always lurking beneath whatever emotions showed on the surface.

He walked less casually than Sirius too, even when they weren't under the watchful eyes of their parents. Of course to any random person Regulus just looked like a younger and possibly slightly cuter version of Sirius with his childlike innocence, he was after all still only nine years old.

Sirius, however knew his brother better than any other person and so stopped and turned to face him outside the bedroom door, offering a questioning smile, "What did I just say about no frowning or seriousness on my birthday and celebrating the joy and fabulousness that I have brought to you and all who know me?"

"That's the thing! I never wished you a Happy Birthday yet!"

"You honestly went into some deep thought process because you forgot to say Happy Birthday?"

Regulus smiled sheepishly, "Yes, but now I have! Happy Birthday! Wait here!" The boy shot off down the hall like a rocket leaving Sirius temporarily confused.

He was back in a few seconds, "I didn't have time to wrap it so-"

"Reg, did you get me a present?"

"Yes, it is your birthday," this time it was Regulus' turn to quirk an eyebrow.

"I know that, stupid! But Mum and Dad usually just get me something hideously aristocratic and then make you give it to me."

"Oh, no," Regulus beamed, "I made this myself." In his outstretched hands he held a small model motorcycle.

Sirius' plucked it from his sibling's grasp and lifted it to eye level, looking at all the different coloured paints he had used to make the motorcycle look as real as possible. For a young boy of his age the attention to detail was astounding Admittedly some of the fiddlier parts were a bit smudged and had finger prints on, but what could he say.

Sirius tried not to gawp, "You painted this?"

"Yep," Regulus nodded enthusiatically , "You know that weird shop you like going into at Diagon Alley when Mother isn't looking?" He dropped his voice to a whisper, "The one that likes the muggles?"

Sirius nodded.

"Well, I noticed you go in there sometimes and look at these moto-cyc's'," he gestured at the model now resting in Sirius' palm, "And when Mother was distracted I bought it. It took me a while to paint it because I kept having to do it a little bit at a time. Only don't tell Mother - or Father because we're not allowed in that shop really."

Sirius exhaled slowly, his eyebrows now invisible behind his fringe as they ascended up his forehead. The astonishment at his brother's efforts to get him a good birthday present was obvious regardless of Sirius' natural ability to conceal his inner thoughts.

"I've been hiding it under my bed for a while so I'm sorry if it's dusty. I didn't want anyone to find it. I'd be in a lot of trouble."

"I know Reg, I know, but it looks like you got away with it this time! I didn't know you had it in you! I'm very impressed. I do like these 'moto-cyc's'," he laughed, "so much so that I think this will go on the night stand AND I won't mention it to Mum and Dad."

Regulus laughed in return, "Good, because that took me ages to paint with this, well, it was like a tiny wand with hair..."

"Seriously though Reg, it's a cool present, I love it. You know I even think it's my favourite already."

The little boy beamed at him.

"Now, we can talk about how cool this is later! First we need to get ready before the Birthday Brigade arrive!"

Regulus nodded, before lifting his hand to his head in a mock salute. Sirius returned the gesture before laughing and turning into his bedroom. A slightly muffled call of 'Oh! Happy Birthday' could be heard making its way back down the hall.

Sirius placed the newly acquired gift down on his bed side table, and crouched to get a good look. He stroked his finger over one of the slightly blotchy handle bars. "Wow Reg, Happy Birthday indeed," he grinned.

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**_Thank you, if you've read this. Please review if you have the time, I'm interested in what people think of my version of Sirius (and Regulus) so far. Remus Lupin next._**


	3. Remus Lupin's Birthday

**_"It takes a long time to grow young."_**  
_- Pablo Picasso_

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John Lupin offered his son a glass of milk and an affectionate smile when he joined them at the table. "Happy Birthday son, how are you this morning?"

Remus smiled in return, but his emotive amber eyes didn't aid his attempt to mask the aches and pains he was currently trying to conceal. Nor the lingering feelings of insecurity he had felt earlier on the stairs, "Thank you Dad. I'm feeling okay, just tired."

"Well," his Mother added as she leant over the table to slide two small pancakes onto Remus' plate, "I'm glad you're feeling well dear, I do hope you're awake enough to eat your breakfast and open your presents."

She stepped back and looked at her son's tired face, "Or maybe we can save presents for later. But eat your pancakes, a growing boy like you needs a good breakfast."

Remus nodded and looked down at his plate. The meal was tiny, and any other boy his age would gobble the two pancakes down in a heartbeat. This morning however with the full moon approaching, the rich buttery smell was enough to turn his stomach.

Not wanting to put his Mother out, Remus picked up his knife and fork and valiantly ate his way through the first pancake as slowly as possible; stopping often to sip at his glass of milk - which was about one of the few things that didn't disagree with him during this time of the month.

John Lupin ran a hand through his thinning sandy hair, his taxing job at the Ministry along with the burden of having to provide for his wife and son - not to mention Remus' condition - left him very stressed. The strain was slowly beginning to show, his 40 year old face had many deepening wrinkle lines around the eyes and forehead. Worry lines his wife called them, he was loath to disagree. He worried about both of them.

Marie Lupin, his beloved Muggle wife had not only fallen in love with a fortuneless wizard but had the added pressure of having to raise a lycanthropic son ever since that terrible night six years ago. He worried for her every day, wondering if Remus' condition was too much for her to deal with, but like a true war baby she always soldiered on no matter what. She cleaned, cooked and did all the other household chores as well as home schooling Remus and making sure he was happy and comfortable. She even put in a few shifts at the local Muggle post office every week and all without a single ounce of magic to help her along the way.

He reached across and touched her hand when she sat down next to him at their small rickety kitchen table. She knew roughly as well as her husband that today was meant to be a special day for Remus, but due to his unfortunate circumstances that it would never come true.

Remus' eyes twinkled as he saw his Mother and Father holding hands across the table, he loved it when they were able to just sit down and relax in each other's company. He loved them so much, and they loved him.

All of his Father's family had turned away from them after Remus had been bitten, refusing to acknowledge their relation to a werewolf; so in reality the three of them had only each other. His Mother's family on the other hand were Muggles and lived at the other end of the country, he rarely saw them and as a result they had no idea what he, his Mother and Father had to go through every month.

Slowly removing her hand from her husbands, Marie Lupin reached for the milk jug, "Would you like some more Remus?"

The quiet boy dabbed his napkin at the corner of his mouth, "Yes, please." He still had a whole other pancake to get through, which he didn't think would be possible milk or no milk.

As his mother filled the glass, John Lupin took hold of the small pile of letters that were on the kitchen counter. "Let's have a look shall we?" He said as he went through the envelopes one by one trying to work out who they were from by the handwriting - or the wax seal on the two instances of wizarding post.

"Oh, this one's definitely from Robert Wilkes, you know, in my department at the Ministry," he recognized as he waved the tan envelope in his right hand, "that's kind of him."

Remus looked up from his plate, "Is he the one with the moustache that always wears quite flamboyant ties?"

John smirked, "Yes, that's the one; although I wouldn't describe his ties as Flamboyant. More like garish," he snorted, "I do believe his daughter is the same age as you. We must remember to send her a card on her birthday..."

Remus' Father was pulled from this thought by a squeal from his wife, who pulled a pale blue envelope with a first class stamp from his grasp. "This one's from Mum and Dad, I'd recognise his handwriting anywhere it's so dreadful!" She slid it towards Remus before offering him a mock serious look and saying, "Please promise me darling that you will aim to have better handwriting than your Grandfather."

Remus snorted and nodded whilst swallowing another mouthful of his breakfast. "I promise." he replied looking down at the barely eligible scrawl in front of his plate.

"Well," sighed Remus' Father, holding up a more official looking letter, "Other than the obvious Ministry approved birthday recognition I'll be damned if I can work out who the rest of these are from, I guess you'll just have to open them won't you my boy?"

John pushed the handful of letters towards his son. Grateful for an excuse not to eat any more food, Remus slid the plate away from him and picked up his birthday greetings. The next ten minutes went by in happy abandon as he opened his five birthday cards, and read them aloud to his parents - including the one they had given him.

Remus was half way through 'Robert Wilkes from the Ministry' when he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

He looked up from the card depicting a small dragon smoking out the words 'Happy Birthday' with a slight frown and looked questioningly at his Mum and Dad.

Remus was home-schooled so it couldn't be anyone for him, he didn't know any of the children from the village well enough for them to call on him on his birthday or at any time for that matter.

Their house was connected to the Ministry by floo, so it couldn't be anyone from his Father's work either. They would just stick their head through the fireplace if they needed something.

Similarly, his mother was only had a few friendly acquaintances down the post office and he didn't think that any of the other women that worked down there would be calling around at 8 o'clock on a Wednesday morning.

John Lupin also frowned, and looked across at his wife who simply shrugged before standing up and brushing down her apron. "I think I'd better go and see who that is."

She bustled off into the hallway and Remus watched her loose chestnut ponytail bob up and down as she went.

"Carry on with the card then," John laughed, rotating around to face Remus again "you know what she's like if she ends up chatting to someone she knows, we won't see her for another fortnight."

Remus was about to begin again when his Mother re-entered the kitchen followed by a tall, severe looking woman, who looked to be dressed predominantly in tartan. Her dark hair was swept up in a tight bun, and her green eyes glinted underneath a pair of square spectacles.

John Lupin shot up from the table at once, "Minerva, erm Professor McGonagall!" he spluttered as he extended a hand.

Clearly, Remus thought as he surveyed the conversation from his seat at the kitchen table, his father was not expecting 'Minerva McGonagall' to be here.

"Can I offer you some tea?" Marie asked the woman politely, apparently as confused by the situation as Remus was.

McGonagall shook her head, "No thank you, I'm just here on Hogwarts business."

John Lupin clenched the hand which just now rested at his side into a fist; Remus' Mother who was still decidedly reaching for the kettle stopped moving completely and Remus choked on his milk, earning him a look from the stern faced woman who had just recently showed up in his kitchen.

Her hard look softened almost immediately as she took in his disheveled sandy brown hair, small frame and tired eyes. A boy aged before his time.

Remus stared back at her like a rabbit in headlights. _Why would someone from Hogwarts be here? Having the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to go to Hogwarts was bad enough, but sending someone over - on his birthday - to rub it in was just plain hurtful._

He knew full well werewolves weren't seen fit to be integrated properly into magical society, which made the notion of someone like him going to Hogwarts impossible. He wanted to cry. It was like all his insecurities and worries and fears had been dragged to the surface and Remus had just been left to drown in them.

"Now listen," John Lupin interjected, feeling very uncomfortable in this situation, "I think it might be best to take this conversation somewhere else."

He glanced across at Remus' helpless face before adding in an undertone, "We know what you're going to say. But please, it's his birthday; don't go bringing it all up in front of him like this."

Minerva McGonagall looked from each member of the Lupin family to the next, her expression changing from a quirked eyebrow at John's frantic attempt to preserve his son's dignity, a brief sympathetic look at Marie, and then a warm but tight lipped smile at Remus.

"Actually," she said in her Scottish brogue, "I think Remus should very much be involved in this conversation; especially as it's his birthday."

She reached inside her long travelling cloak and carefully extracted a letter. Turning, she placed it on the kitchen and pushed it gently towards him, address side up.

Remus glanced from the envelope, to his parents, to the woman several times. _They denied me entry to Hogwarts in writing? Why would they do that?_

"I think Mr Lupin," she said addressing the nervous boy at the table, "you will want to open that sooner rather than later."

Remus checked his resolve, and exhaled deeply. He already knew what was coming so he may as well get it over and done with. He ran his trembling finger over the thick wax seal, and broke the envelope open.

_Don't cry. Don't cry. You knew this was coming. You can't go to Hogwarts. You don't deserve to go to Hogwarts. Hogwarts is for proper witches and wizards, not someone like you. Come on. Don't cry._

He pulled the parchment from the envelope and unfolded it. His moist eyes slowly dropped to read the first line.

_Dear Mr Lupin, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_.

He felt like all the wind had been knocked out of him.

He read the line again. And again. _And again._

_Dear Mr Lupin._  
_You have been accepted._  
_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

His hands were shaking now, as he looked up at the Scottish woman that held all the keys to make or break him. "Is...is this... real?" Remus choked incredulously.

She smirked, not maliciously but in a sign of delight. She was clearly pleased at knowing how much this meant the boy, "Yes Mr Lupin, this is in fact very much real. You have been accepted at Hogwarts, and we very much look forward to seeing you there in September."

"He what?!" cried John Lupin, grabbing the parchment from Remus' hand. His thick eyebrows furrowed as he scanned through the contents of the letter. "But, I... we thought that Remus wasn't permitted to attend because of his condition. This isn't some kind of joke is it?"

"No, no, not at all Mr Lupin. I would have thought that my being your Head Girl when you attended Hogwarts would remind you that I take my job very seriously," McGonagall replied cocking her head as some unspoken sentiment passed between them.

Remus' Father cleared his throat awkwardly and adjusted his position leaning against the kitchen counter, "Yes... of cousre..."

McGonagall took this moment of quiet to proceed, "You see Professor Dumbledore has actually been looking into Remus' case for quite some time now and he has seen it fit that this boy should not be denied the opportunity to receive a magical education."

Even Remus' Muggle Mother had a look of surprise dashed across her face, she seemed to be attempting to understand what was going on between her husband, son and this Scottish beacon of hope standing in her kitchen.

"What I am trying to say," the Hogwarts Professor continued, "Is that your son has the opportunity to study at Hogwarts - just as if his condition did not exist - if he so wishes. Obviously, Professor Dumbledore, Poppy Pomfrey; the school Healer and I have ensured that Remus' lycanthropy will indeed remain a secret throughout his schooling. We feel there is no need for any of the other students to be made aware of it, as unfortunately, some, or perhaps more accurately, some parents are less understanding than others."

She turned to face the startled Remus again, "You will experience no prejudice at Hogwarts, like I expect you may have received in the past. Myself, and the other staff members who are aware of your circumstances harbour no ill feelings towards you and it is vital that you understand that. You are, I am sure Mr Lupin, a good boy, whom a bad thing has happened to, remember that.

"If you do of course accept the position at Hogwarts, I will escort you to the infirmary after the sorting ceremony where you will meet Madame Pomfrey. She will look after you after each of your transformations and make sure that you understand the procedures we have put in place to protect you and the other students safety during this time.

You will be perfectly safe Mr Lupin, a lot of time and care has gone into making sure your stay at Hogwarts will be as normal and enjoyable as possible and I very much hope you agree to attend."

Remus was still dumbfounded by this shocking revelation. _He could go to Hogwarts. No one there hated him for being a werewolf. They were going to look after him. No one else would know about his lycanthropy. He could become a proper wizard. _**_He could go to Hogwarts._**

Although earlier Remus had conditioned himself to not cry, he found tears slipping down his face but for an all more welcoming reason. He looked up at the woman who had literally brought the news that would change his life, "Yes," he whispered, for the first time not actually thinking about his parent's opinion, "Yes. Please. I would like to go."

Minerva McGonagall offered him another tight lipped smile, this one very much sincere, "Wonderful. Then I do believe we shall see you on September the 1st."

She looked back at Mr John Lupin, who was still looking somewhat shell shocked, but thankfully she noted, one of high spirits.

Reverting back into full teacher mode, if not for the exception of the twinkle in her eye, McGonagall finished her sermon, "Mr Lupin, please don't forget the equally important sections of the letter detailing all of the equipment and uniform Remus will need to obtain before term starts. I would hate for him to show up at school without all the necessary paraphernalia simply because his Father forgot how to speak.

"Mrs Lupin, thank you kindly for your hospitality, I must admit I am quite sorry I couldn't stop for tea as I am rather partial to a cup of earl grey. Nonetheless, I still have some quite pressing duties to attend to, if you have any questions please do not hesitate to owl Headmaster Dumbledore, but for now I must be on my way."

She nodded curtly to each member of the family, still secretly revelling in the unadulterated delight in Remus' eyes, before turning on her heel and marching out of the kitchen and out of the door.

The three Lupins looked at each other for several long moments before each face broke into a huge smile of joy. John and Marie stepped forwards to embrace a Remus in a much needed hug. "I'm going to Hogwarts." Remus sobbed softly.

"Yes you are," replied his Father.

Marie placed a kiss on her sons head, "I'm not going to pretend I know exactly what just happened, but I know it was something very good and I am so proud of you."

Remus hiccupped against someone's arm. The three were all so tightly embracing each other he could hardly tell one body from the other. "Although I think," his Mother carried on, "after all that excitement, maybe we _should_ save the presents for later?"

* * *

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter, Remus is one of my favourites to write. _

_I personally tend to read stories with a significant amount of reviews, as such your comments and feedback would be much appreciated here, not only so that my story can reach out to other readers like myself but so I can find out what your thoughts and opinions, likes and dislikes are. Thank you for taking the time to read my story anyway, and particularly to Lily and LadyKBlack for their comments. I hope to hear from you all soon._


	4. James Potter's Birthday

_**You are only young once, but you can be immature for a lifetime. **_

_**-** John P. Grier_

* * *

"James?"

"Mmhmm"

"Have you ever heard of the phrase 'a watched pot never boils'?"

James Potter glanced back over his shoulder at his Mother's question. His unruly black hair stuck up at an assortment of angles, possibly due to its natural desire to not obey the laws of gravity or possibly because he had rolled out of bed not three minutes ago.

"No?" he replied raising an eyebrow, which could just about be seen under his wonky glasses, "What's that supposed to mean? A pot's bound to boil regardless of whether you watch it or not...

"Well," he added with a shrug, turning back to face the window, "providing you've heated it of course."

"I don't think that's what your Mother meant, James," Charlus Potter noted from behind him. "I believe she was trying to say, in no uncertain terms, get away from that window and come and give us a hug."

James swung his head around again, "I honestly would love to Dad, but my letter should be arriving shortly," he looked down at his bare wrist as if to estimate the letters arrival time, "and I would hate to miss it."

He returned to his vigilant analysis of the morning sky, but flung his arms wide. "Here, you'll have to make do with this imaginary hug for now."

"Ah, but you see my boy your letter will arrive whether you're stood by the window or not. Your presents on the other hand..."

Clapping his outstretched arms to his head, James spun around to face the two adults with a look of horror plastered across his face "You wouldn't!"

"Really James," Dorea Potter giggled, "I would've thought by now you would know that he very much would."

"Yeah, but not without a fight!" James' dramatic expression changed into a lopsided grin as he jumped forwards to grab his ageing parents into a warm embrace.

His Mother leant over him and pressed a kiss to his cheek, "Oh, my little boy all grown up and waiting for his letter to Hogwarts!"

James wiped at his cheek in jest, "Mum!"

"It might be best to let her love you excessively while she can, I'm sure you won't want her turning up at Hogwarts in six months crying about how much she misses you," joked James' Father.

Dorea scowled and slapped her husband on the chest, "I will do no such thing!"

She looked up into the blue eyes of her husband which were framed by shallow wrinkles and a pair of eyeglasses similar to her son's. His hair was a steel grey - a very specific type of grey that made him look distinguished rather than old.

Charlus stood at just over six feet and was able to look down on his slightly smaller wife affectionately. He had one arm still wrapped around her, his fingers rubbing against the sleeve of her silk dressing gown and the other arm around - "_James!_ Dear Merlin boy, can you not stay away from that window for more than two seconds?"

Dorea watched his eyes crinkle when he chuckled at their son's desperation to get a glimpse of the Post Owl. He looked down at her again smiling and she shrugged, "Like father like son."

"I would resent that comment if I knew you weren't lying, did I really used to be like that?"

"Every day," she smiled, tucking a long strand of white-blond hair behind her ear.

Charlus steered his wife towards the kitchen table where they observed their only son for a few peaceful minutes.

James Potter in his striped pyjamas had both hands placed apart on the kitchen counter, allowing him to lean as far forward into the open window as possible. His round and slightly smudged spectacles glinted as they reflected the rays of the morning son; Dark eyebrows were set, and brown eyes continued to scan the sky fruitlessly.

"I have an idea," whispered James' Mother.

Charlus Potter arched an eyebrow, "To get him away from that blasted window? Go on, I'm listening."

Dorea Potter clicked her fingers and it was only a matter of moments before a tiny House Elf appeared at her side.

"Hello Aealy, how are you this morning?" she began conversationally. Charlus observed from over her shoulder, offering the house elf a friendly smile and a wave.

"Aealy is feeling very good this morning Mistress thank you. How is you feeling?"

Dorea turned to her husband, who nodded in answer. "Yes, we're feeling very good too. Now I was wondering if you could do me a quick favour?"

"Aealy can do all the favours for Mistress! What is my Mistress wanting?" The house elf was positively giddy at the prospect of being given something to do so early in the morning; she swayed from foot to foot, her large, blue, tennis ball shaped eyes gazing up at Mrs Potter in adoration.

"Could you rustle up three full English's please? As soon as possible."

Catching on to his wife's thought process, Charlus Potter leant forward to add, "And a round of toast please, if you've got the time."

"Of course Aealy is having the time for Mistress and Master, Aealy is cooking straight away!"

With that the house elf disappeared in a flash of batlike ears and freshly pressed pillowcase.

Charlus smirked at Dorea, "I see what you're doing here, how very Slytherin of you."

"Well, you know me," she replied, "I know a certain boy's weakness, and it smells a lot like bacon."

* * *

James' parents spent the next five minutes attempting to coax their offspring away from the window, only to be batted away with cries of, "I'm sorry, but I don't want to miss it!" and "Oh look here it comes! Oh... no, my bad... that's one of those flying metal things."

"I think they're called aeroplanes," Dorea looked to her husband for conformation, "they are called aeroplanes aren't they?"

"Hmm, yes I think so. We really should look into all this Muggle stuff a bit more, apparently it's very interesting." He gestured towards the window, "I mean to think they can make something heavier than several mountain trolls fly through the air without the aid of magic. It's fantastic!"

"Fantastic," James murmured from the other side of the kitchen, apparently very engrossed in watching the aeroplane make its journey across the sky.

It was very good timing then when three plates filled with beans, sausages, waffles, mushrooms, eggs, tomatoes and bacon magically floated up onto their kitchen table - shortly followed by a round of toast, burnt to perfection.

Dorea extracted her wand from her dressing gown sleeve and slowly conjured a light breeze to blow the scent of their freshly cooked breakfast towards James.

The two watched, trying to stifle childish snorts of laughter as their eleven year old son's nostrils twitched. His eyebrows furrowed even deeper as he attempted to work out why he could smell fry up, without removing his eyes from the window.

Slowly he turned to see his Parents casually tucking into one of the largest piles of breakfast he had ever seen. They both looked up at him as if to say 'my goodness, how did this get here!'

James stood by the kitchen counter, evidently battling with his conscience; one invisible rope tugging him towards the plate of food and another towards the window. "Why must you do this to me Mother? I thought you loved me?"

"I do love you my dear, that's why I asked Aealy to provide you with such a delectable array of food..."

"Very kind of you indeed my love," added Charlus, twirling a rasher of bacon around on his fork.

"Arghh!"

James' resolve snapped and he stomped towards the kitchen table.

Cutlery deposited his food into his waiting mouth at an alarming rate, "_I admit bagon ish a reeeal weagnesh of mine_," he swallowed, "and it was very wrong of you to use it against me."

"And yet I can't help but think," James' Father replied smoothly, as he placed his knife and fork down on the edge of his empty plate, "that you don't really begrudge us at all for doing it."

"Well of course not! I love food. Almost as much as I love presents..." he batted his long black eyelashes at his parents.

His Father arched an eyebrow at the boy's obvious attempt to try and get his presents early, but it was his Mother who spoke, "I'm glad you love presents James, because I'm sure you will have some to open after you've washed and dressed."

"But Mum, if you think about it..."

Whilst James was discussing avidly the pro's and con's of being allowed to open his birthday presents this early with his Mother, Charlus Potter squinted at the open window over his sons shoulder.

If he was not mistaken, a small dark owl was flying slowly towards their home. Charlus flicked his eyes back towards James' face – he was still engrossed in the debate with his Mother. Perfect; James, facing away from that side of the room had absolutely no idea that the owl was approaching. Charlus looked back up towards the window; he could distinctly make out the owls black wings beating gently as it descended towards its destination.

It was no secret that James Potter was partial to a good joke or trick, what was less well known however, was that he had inherited this mischievous streak from his Father. When Mr Potter was the Head of the Auror Department, it was essential that he toned down his humorous endeavours; now however, as the _ex-Head_ of the Auror Department, Mr Potter was free to pull whatever pranks he liked, _especially_ on his little tyke of a son.

So he watched the small black owl enter the protective wards that surrounded their home, and waited; a few more seconds should do it.

"James!"

Startled by his Fathers sudden interruption, James' head snapped up out of the conversation, "Yeah?"

"You know, you are absolutely right."

The bird was approaching the window.

"I am?"

The bird was level with the window. Charlus looked at the creature right in the eyes, as if trying to send it some kind of unspoken message. The owl looked back at him, and followed the incline of his head in James' direction.

James, still confused by his Fathers abrupt intrusion into his and his Mothers exchange did not notice the man's secret conversation with the little black owl behind him.

Charlus leant back in his chair; the bird was close enough now that he could observe the scene in front of him without having to change the angle of his gaze.

"Yes indeed, on this occasion I think we should ignore what your Mother was saying about waiting until this afternoon to have your presents, and have one now."

His eyes lit up, "Really?"

"Yes," his Father smiled, "in fact, have two!"

With that the bundle of feathers launched itself onto James' head, its tiny talons struggling for balance in the boy's wild mass of dark hair. It teetered precariously for a moment before securing its claws amongst James' thick locks and lodging itself there.

Dorea Potter had only been aware of the situation moments before it had actually happened, and she now found herself struggling for breath at the sheer hilarity of her sons face.

To say James was shocked was an understatement. He had been totally unprepared for an unidentified flying object to throw itself on his unassuming head and take up refuge there. Initially, he had propelled himself away from the table whilst screaming, some of the sounds coming out of his mouth decidedly more high pitched than others.

Charlus watched in amusement as his son fell to the floor with cries of, "OH MY GOD! What is it! What is it!" whilst struggling to clutch at the object perched on his skull. The owl also seemed to be enjoying itself, attempting to hoot in spite of the thick letter it held in its beak. The bird gave James a good run for his money by flapping its wings enthusiastically every time he plucked up the courage to extend a hand and try and determine what was sat on top of him.

Each attempt ended with a weak, "Ah!" or "Mhhhmm!" as the owl deftly swatted him away.

"Happy Birthday son!" Charlus Potter shouted, grinning gleefully.

James looked up scathingly, causing his Mother and Father to burst into another fit of giggles. There was no possible way to take him seriously when he was sprawled on the floor with an owl perched lopsidedly upon his head.

"Charlus!" Dorea wheezed, "You are wicked!"

"I know," he laughed out in return, "Oh, I know."

He pushed himself up off his chair and walked around to his son. Pausing for another moment just to cherish the bizarre image of boy and owl combined upon his kitchen floor, he crouched down and tried to extract the creature from James' untidy hair.

"I'll get you back for this one old man." James murmured from somewhere underneath Charlus' arm.

"When you find out what it is, I hardly think you'll want to," replied his Father. With another yank to his curls, the bird came free and Charlus turned it to face his son.

Its bright eyes gleamed as it rustled it feathers and deposited its package into James' lap. He stared back at the little owl whilst his fingers curled around the Hogwarts letter that rested on his leg.

"Well played Sir, well played," James nodded to the bird and his Father in turn.

Mr Potter stood and carried the bird back around to the other side of the table to set it down and let it mill around by the salt and pepper shakers.

"Come on then," Dorea Potter piped up, "at least do us the honour of opening it at the table."

James leapt up into his chair, eyes fixed on the envelope in his hands; the incident from a few moments ago, currently forgotten.

He slid one finger under the opening, and pulled away the official Hogwarts wax seal. Folding the envelope open, he hastily extracted the parchment and read.

_Dear Mr Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_.

Charlus looped his arm over Dorea's shoulder and they watched his smile widen upon reading through the letter. The smile was short lived however, as James' approached the last line.

"_Parents are reminded that first years are not allowed their own broomsticks_? You cannot be serious."

Mr Potter sniggered; trust his son the Quidditch fanatic to pick up the only section of the letter that disadvantaged him. His wife on the other hand knew exactly how to avoid an uncomfortable scene, "James dear, you have to remember that some of the children going this year will never have even seen a broom, let alone ridden one.

"Imagine how they would feel if you showed up with your Shooting Star doing all your tricks. They wouldn't stand a chance! You have to at least let them think they can ride a broom, before you show up in your second year and then blow them out of the water, on the Quidditch pitch and off!" she finished with a wink.

James was drinking in her words, "Yeah! Yeah you're right Mum. I'll still be good on whatever brooms they have for flying lessons, and then next year I'll get myself right on the Quidditch team and steer Gryffindor to victory!"

Dorea smiled, "Of course I'm right, I'm your Mother."

But it was drowned out by a rather passionate, "That's my boy!" from Charlus at the mention of victory for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

She sighed, "Boys."

Then she remembered, "You forgot the other important part of that letter-"

"Not '_please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags_'?"

"No, darling, the one just above broomsticks," she replied giggling at the fact he, James Potter considered name tags important.

"Oh, '_students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad'_?"

It was Charlus' time to join in the conversation again, as he swept up the small black owl with a flourish and re-presented it to his son. "Ta-daa!"

"Sweet Circe, is that for me!"

"Well, I do believe I said you would be having two presents to open this morning," Charlus grinned, "although seeing as the owl isn't wrapped, it's probably best you don't try and open it."

"You got me an owl! You actually got me my very own owl!" James threw the majority of his body across the kitchen table and extended his arms around his parent's necks.

"Oh this is so cool," he said as he fell back and reached for the creature still held in his Father's large palms, "does it have a name?"

"Nope," replied Charlus, popping the p, "he's all yours to name."

"But nothing rude!" Dorea jumped in, before James could suggest anything.

The three laughed, and the owl hooted contentedly. James sobered quickly however and directed his concentration at the bundle of feathers in front of him, the naming process was obviously about to become a big deal.

"Hmmm, let me see."

After ten minutes of no progress, Mr and Mrs Potter had engaged in a hushed conversation, allowing their son more time to think.

By twenty minutes and after multiple "Mmm's" and "Aha's!" from the opposite side of the table, James Potter finally jumped up, "I think I've got it!"

* * *

_**Hello, thank you to those of you who are enjoying and reading the story. Drop me a comment if you have time. I think you know who's next!**_


	5. Peter Pettigrew's Birthday

**_"All the world is a birthday cake, so take a piece but not too much." _**

_- George Harrison_

* * *

The owl's beady orange eyes followed Peter as he edged through the door and skirted the edge of the kitchen. It would seem that the small, portly boy was the only one awake, or at least the only one that had made it downstairs in the modest cottage located in Mould-on-the-Wold.

His mother was probably still in bed on this early June morning. No doubt she would be up soon though especially considering the room Peter was situated in; it was as if she had some form of alarm system in place that would alert her whenever the boy was in close proximity of the refrigerator.

He watched the owl at its place on the kitchen table, wondering whether he should just take the letters it held and be done with it, or wait for his mother. He decided on the latter when the owl clacked its beak at the slow approach of his pudgy hand. Peter looked around the small country kitchen, from the old range cooker to the slightly garish yellow drapes surrounding the open window.

His blue eyes wandered leisurely to the fridge in the corner of the brightly lit room. Looking at the clock on the wall he noted it had just gone eight; a perfectly acceptable time to begin breakfast. No sooner had his bare feet begun their journey across their linoleum flooring however, than a tell-tale creak sounded from upstairs.

Choosing the safe option of not being caught with his head in the fridge - again, Peter took the scenic route around the kitchen and deposited himself in the chair furthest away from the angry looking bird that was currently invading his home.

Pushing himself onto the back legs of the chair, he swung his pyjama clad legs to and fro, barely skimming the ground. Peter noticed a slight breeze floating around his ankles and upon further inspection noticed that his flannel trousers had grown a few inches too short. As far as he was aware he hadn't grown at all in the last year, but then again, he hadn't bought any new nightwear in the last few years either.

He was perfecting his balancing act when his mother entered the room rather suddenly. Startled, Peter toppled backwards onto the floor, a mess of rumpled pyjamas and splintered wood.

Looking up at her from his position on the floor he saw surprise in the face of the small, plump woman. She was built not unlike her son, mousy hair cropped to frame her round face, and she fidgeted with her thick dressing gown as she stared at him.

"Hullo Mum," Peter groaned at her from the other side of the room.

She offered him a tired smile, "Well, good morning Peter. Happy Birthday."

"Thanks," he countered, pushing himself up from the ground.

Peter found conversations with his mother slightly more awkward (even without being sprawled across the floor) now that they were the only ones in the house. His father had left them for another woman just over a year ago and Ruth Pettigrew was still taking it badly. Not only that, but the burden of having to try and be the man of the house now that his two older brothers had gone off to pursue their own careers was a role Peter was finding difficult to complete.

His father was never a particularly ambitious man, hard-working, yes; he lived up to his Hufflepuff reputation. That was where he had met Peter's mother, who was also a Hufflepuff by nature. Which was why, Peter reflected, his father's disloyalty had come as a bit of a shock to the whole family; especially to a French witch some 15 years his junior.

The eldest Pettigrew brother who was now 22 had acquired a job at the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau in the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He had found the best way of dealing with the situation was to throw himself into his work.

After working his way up through the office, the oldest brother currently found himself in Asia undergoing research into the Chinese Fireball and the possibly existence of its cousin the Cantalonian Fireball. Mrs Pettigrew was obviously immensely proud of her son and talked about him avidly to anyone who should happen to listen.

She was also immensely proud of the middle son Patrick, who wanted desperately to stay behind and help his mother and younger brother patch up their now fragmented lifestyle. But he was at present under pressure to complete his degree in Herbology at one of the American Wizarding Universities.

Peter couldn't help feeling that he was a bit of a disappointment to the family, the youngest of son who was constantly overshadowed by his older brothers, and hardly a shred of help to his evidently heartbroken shell of a mother.

Ruth Pettigrew's previously sharp nature regarding her son had somewhat calmed over the last year or so, and Peter found himself wondering whether he should be pleased or slightly alarmed by this.

There was however at least one aspect of her mentality that she had not changed and that regarded Peter's fondness for food. The boy was overweight for his age, there was no denying and the last thing either of them wanted was for Peter to be bullied during his time at Hogwarts, especially with the contributing factors of his height, soft touch and magical ability.

Peter was confident he would not end up in Ravenclaw like his two brothers, he just didn't have the natural flair for learning like they had. He would probably end up in Hufflepuff, which he didn't mind too much. Hufflepuff was safe.

He watched as his mother busied herself making breakfast, thankful that today was his birthday – as it would mean his wasn't subjected to his usual bowl of muesli.

"Hey mum, I erm, I think I broke the chair. Do you um, do you think you could fix it?"

She frowned at the slightly broken chair and waved her wand in a circular motion, causing the splintered leg to reattach itself to the rest of the body.

"Thanks, would you like some help?" He asked, at a loss for things to do.

Mrs Pettigrew looked around from her position at the cooker again, "Oh no, I'm fine Peter, why don't you get the post while I finish up these eggs for us?"

The boy nodded and made his way gradually to the owl at the end of the table which was guarding the bunch of letters like a mother Dragon guarding her eggs. He extended a hand again, only to have the bird squawk at him.

"Come on," Peter whispered at the temperamental creature, "Please just give me the letters."

The bird cocked its head at him before shuffling its feet in some kind of defiant gesture.

He tried again in vain to distract the owl before lurching forward for his prize; this time to be rewarded with a sharp nip to the knuckle.

"Ow!"

"What is it Peter?" Ruth Pettigrew asked, turning around again. She saw her son nursing a scratched hand and glaring furiously at the message carrier.

She sighed, "Oh honestly, don't you know what Artemis is like by now? At least give him something for his troubles." She tossed the bird some ripped off bits of toast, which it swallowed greedily. "Your brother is a Dragon expert for pities sake; surely you know how to treat a domestic owl?"

Peter watched her dejectedly as she turned around again, and began plating the eggs and toast for their breakfast.

Picking up the post, he walked sullenly back around to the other side of the table and sat down. He sorted through the letters quickly; too busy mulling over his most recent admonishment to pay much attention to the fact that the letter he was expecting wasn't there.

He stared down at the assortment of post in his hand; the Daily Prophet, several birthday cards, letters for his mother regarding her latest work placement in the ministry, and some bills.

Peter exhaled out of his nose, and scrabbled through each bit of mail again. The Hogwarts letter wasn't there.

_Oh god, what if he was a squib? What if they didn't want him at Hogwarts?_

Peter glanced up at his mother who thankfully was still facing the other way. He darted up from his seat at the table, tripping over his own feet in his haste. Peter rounded on the owl, "Okay, look, I'm sorry for not feeding you! I forgot! Now just give me the letter!" he whispered harshly.

The bird simply cocked his head at him again, "Artemis! This isn't funny anymore, where are you hiding the letter!"

The bird now resorted to ignoring Peter's rationalising and went back to preening its feather.

The small boy let out a strangled moan and lifted the bird over his head. The space underneath where it had been sat was empty.

_Oh Merlin. This cannot be real._

"Peter, what on earth are you doing?" asked his mother, finally acknowledging her son - who was currently holding their owl over his head and groaning.

_No! Should he tell her that it hadn't arrived?_

"Oh em," Peter choked out, "I just thought I would thank Artemis properly for his... delivery this morning."

"By holding him above your head?" she replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Er, well I imagine birds quite enjoy being in the air?"

"Don't be silly Peter, come and sit down and have your breakfast."

Peter placed the ruffled owl back down and the two returned to their seats at the table, where they both made poor attempts to stimulate conversation over a plate of boiled egg and soldiers. Peter often had to ask his mother to repeat her questions as his mind was still going over all the possibilities as to where his letter could be.

"...and don't forget that your brothers are coming round later for your birthday. "

"Really?"

"Oh yes," she smiled, "Patrick broke up for the summer at University a few days ago, I think he's been in Scotland these last couple of days, you know catching up with friends and I do believe he stopped off to see the new Herbology Professor at Hogwarts, Sprout is it? But he should be along sometime this afternoon; and Paul is taking a few days off from work and should be completing the last of his apparition points this afternoon too."

"Oh right, brilliant." Peter mumbled into his toast, now suddenly aware that the one day of the year where the attention was supposed to be solely focused on him, would be overshadowed by his successful older siblings.

"Mmmm," his mother replied, taking another delicate bite of her toast, "Won't it be wonderful, the four of us together again for the summer."

"Yeah, should be pretty good." Peter couldn't lie to himself, as much as he was resenting the fact he would once again be shoved to the bottom of the pile like an old toy while his brothers were staying, he was quite looking forward to seeing them, even if it was just for the novelty.

He tried to busy himself as Mrs Pettigrew talked at him about all the things they could do together over the next week or so by pushing his empty egg shell around the plate. He lamented that he probably shouldn't have gobbled down his breakfast so quickly, even if it was out of fear at the absence of his letter.

_Oh Merlin the letter. Where the heck was it?_

"...mmhmm, and then maybe on the Tuesday we could all go to Diagon Alley and get all of your stuff for school next year! Oh, my little Peter off to Hogwarts at last! Oh yes, where is your letter Peter? Has it arrived already?"

"My... my letter?" Peter swallowed, even though there was no food in his empty mouth.

"Yes, did you get it from Artemis before I came down? I must have a look at it; I imagine the book list has changed slightly since Patrick first attended..." Ruth mused.

"Oh um... yeah, it's actually already in my room, so just I'll bring it down later after Patrick and Paul have settled down, would you like me to do the dishes?"

"Oh, well I supp-"

"Yeah, I'll just do the dishes right now anyway." Peter had already rounded on his mother, and picked up the plate so forcefully that the cutlery slid off its shiny surface and clattered across the floor.

_Merlin's pants._

"Peter, what is going on with you this morning? There have been more things on the floor this morning – including yourself – than I can count!" she scolded.

"Sorry mum, you know me, I've always been a bit clumsy," Peter murmured as he scrambled around on the floor to pick up the dropped silverware, "I guess I'm just excited for my birthday – and to see Paul and Patrick," he lied.

"Yes I suppose you are! Well leave those dishes to me and go and get yourself ready, they should be round in a few hours; then we'll have some presents and cake."

"Okay!" Peter squeaked and he scurried out of the kitchen post-haste.

* * *

The single bed in the tiny box room creaked when Peter threw himself down on it –again. After an hour of pacing and sighing and fretting he still couldn't fathom why the letter hadn't been delivered. Could he even tell his mum that he didn't know what had happened to it?

He was once again extracted from his worries by a distant, "Peter! Are you ready? They'll be here in a minute!"

Exhaling, Peter lifted his pudgy body up from the bed and descended down the stairs, with each step he could feel the metaphorical noose tightening around his plump neck. The noose that would eventually strangle him until he openly admitted to the only people he had ever needed to impress that he was in fact, a squib.

He recollected - for the second time this morning - the pudding incident. He had magicked that pudding all the way upstairs when he was eight. Definitely. Probably. What if it was just a figment of his imagination? No, it couldn't be. _Could it?_

Upon entering the living room, Peter inhaled a good amount of ash, which was swirling around the space between the three bodies inside. He bent forward slightly and began spluttering, only too grateful for the hefty clap on the back by a much stronger hand than his mothers.

"Alright buddy? I would've thought you'd have realised by now that gulping down ash isn't the best or tastiest thing to do," the voice came closer to his ear, chuckling, "I mean we know you're on a diet, but surely you've not gotten that desperate yet?"

"Yeah mate," added another male voice, "We don't want you keeling over on your birthday, do we? You wouldn't be able to open this then."

As if to offer an explanation as to what 'this' was; what felt like a thick wad of paper wacked Peter over the back of the head.

Peter offered a weak smile to the two men whose grinning faces were emerging from the dispersing ash cloud in the living room. "Thanks for the erm, patting," Peter wheezed, "The hitting? Not so much."

"I think your brother could do with a glass of water, let's go through to the kitchen, where it isn't so cramped," offered Mrs Pettigrew to the newly acquired members of her household.

Once she had cast a quick aguamenti on a cup from the cupboard -and Peter had almost recovered from his slightly painful discovery that ash is best left not ingested, she began gushing at almost 100mph, "Oh my boys, I've missed you so much! How's school? How's work? Are you a bit tired?

"I know you've been travelling for a while. Perhaps we should all just sit down? Oh look Paul; you've got some dirt on your jacket! Patrick you could do with a haircut, what is that mess?"

"Woah, woah, calm down Mum!" Paul practically shouted at her, "Give us a chance to breathe!"

"Yeah, Peter hasn't even opened his letter yet, the letter which I ever so generously picked up directly from Hogwarts," added Patrick.

Peters head snapped up. "You what!"

"Well I stopped by to see Professor Sprout didn't I? And I bumped into Dumbledore as I was leaving, and he asked me to give this to you, some of the owls were being a bit temperamental or something."

Patrick thrust a hand towards his younger brother, "Take it then, it's only a bloody letter Peter, not an Order of Merlin."

"Mind you," whispered Paul, "Not that it matters, I can hardly see Peter receiving an Order of Merlin – unless they do one now for Special Services to the Consumption of Food."

Peter ignored their comments; too busy staring at the creased envelope in his hand. The flood gates had opened and relief was rushing through him at an astounding rate. He let out a nervous laugh and ripped the top of the envelope open.

_Dear Mr Pettigrew, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

"Blimey Pete, I know you're not that good at magic, but you didn't honestly think you were a squib did you?"

Peter blinked at his brothers, "What? No... I uh... of course not."

"Don't you remember the 'Pudding Incident'?" Patrick nudged his older brother.

They laughed together, "How could I forget, that was such a good week. I've never seen mum so furious and yet so relieved."

Turning away from Peter, they looked at the woman in question, "Speaking of pudding mum, is there some cake? I'm hungry, and we've got loads to tell you."

The three busied themselves around the far side of the kitchen, exchanging titbits of converstation. The youngest Pettigrew was relegated to the kitchen table, staring somewhat solemnly at the pieces of paper that had made him the centre of attention for just the shortest amount of time.

He was feeling so disappointed by his family's sudden dismissal of him, that he barely noticed when Paul, following behind his mother and other brother, levitated a plate of cake past him and into the front room.

Peter sat there turning the paper over in hands, thinking he'd all but been forgotten about -on his birthday of all days- when his mother called in from the other room. "Peter! I thought you said that Artemis had already delivered that letter to your bedroom?"

_Oh, Merlin's Pants._

* * *

**_One more round of individual chapters to go and then we get onto the good stuff! Reviews are greatly appreciated, thank you!_**


	6. Purebloods in Diagon Alley

**_ "Family is more than blood" _**  
_― Cassandra Clare_

* * *

Sirius much preferred side-along apparition. He didn't let anyone else know that though. Apparently to everyone else the feeling was something akin to being sucked down a plughole covered in a tea strainer; a feeling that wasn't supposed to be fun. He, however couldn't help but think that flying through the darkness with your heartbeat pounding through your eardrums was quite exhilarating.

Regulus on the other hand absolutely hated it, always moaning about his eyeballs being pushed to the back of his head and not being able to breathe. It was probably quite lucky for him, Sirius mused, that they were travelling to Diagon Alley by floo today. How boring.

Sirius stood by the rather grand fireplace in the drawing room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place and tried hard not to scuff his shoes along the floor. As much as he was looking forward to finally getting his school equipment, he was most displeased by what he had to wear to get it.

Walburga Black had been absolutely adamant that venturing out onto one of the busiest streets in the wizarding world as a family would require some of their best attire, and some of the boys best behaviour.

Which was why, leaning against the fireplace, Sirius found himself wearing a pair of freshly-pressed - by Kreacher no doubt - black suit trousers and some sort of crisp white dress shirt that didn't require any form of tie, but apparently did need to be buttoned up all the way to the top. He wore a black blazer over the top, which made his ridiculously white shirt practically glow from amongst all the darker items of clothing.

Sirius frowned at his feet, his brows deepening as he saw himself reflected in his impeccably polished shoes. At least her attempt to control his long messy hair hadn't worked effectively, he had a feeling his sheer will power and a tiny bit of magic had helped it to repel the heaps of gel she had given Kreacher to try and comb it down with.

Regulus wasn't so lucky. The older boy didn't know whether to laugh or offer him a reassuring smile when he entered the room. His mother had really gone to town on him, full suit, combed hair and everything. Sirius' original instinct to laugh dissipated the second he saw his mother enter the room, her sharp eyes seeking him out immediately.

"Sirius. Get away from the hearth, you'll get your clothes dirty and I do not want people to think I find it appropriate for my offspring to run around looking like filthy street urchins."

The boy rolled his body forward off of the mantelpiece in a casual, yet obedient way that only he could manage. "Yes Mother."

She sniffed and brushed a speck of dust from the angular shoulder pads of her charcoal jacket. He couldn't help but notice that his family looked like they were going to a funeral rather than a day out to Diagon Alley. Especially his mother, whom Sirius did not think could even smile anymore.

The young boy decided he no longer wanted to dwell on his mother's minute collection of facial expressions, and instead tore himself away from her piercing glare. The three passed a few minutes in awkward silence until the towering form of Orion Black emerged through the doorway.

He walked into the centre of the room, commanding attention from his two sons. His stony eyes passed over the two of them, "Sirius, brush your hair out of your eyes, you're not some sort of urchin."

Sirius raised himself to his full height, which was barely noticeable with his giant of a father in the room, and offered a muttered, "Yes Father," whilst trying not to roll his eyes as he swept his long dark locks away from his face.

"Are we ready to leave Walburga?" Orion asked stepping past the boy to reach into the pot of floo powder.

"Yes." She replied stiffly.

"After you," he gestured towards the well sized fireplace which was now filled with dancing green flames.

Walburga Black's heels clacked across the wooden floor until she was situated within the flickering fire calling out a brisk, "Knockturn Alley."

Sirius' eyebrows shot up sharply, and he fixed his father with a confused look, "But I thought we were going to Diagon Alley today? To get my books and robes? What are we going there for?"

Seemingly ignoring Sirius' questions, Orion turned to the younger of the two boys, "Regulus get in the fire, your mother does not like to be kept waiting."

After the boy had gone spinning into the floo network, the older man turned, bending his knees to get right down to his son's face, his voice filled with authority, "Sirius, it is imperative that you remember that things are not always about you.

"You must stop being so self-centred and needy. I have important business to attend to today, and being the head of this family it is my business that will be dealt with first. I am appalled that you think so lowly of your mother and I that we would let the heir of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black turn up to Hogwarts in a substandard set of robes with second-hand books.

"It is the height of disrespect Sirius. Do not tempt me to postpone your trip to Diagon Alley. If I hear you whining about it again at any time during my errands, there will be consequences. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," the boy whispered.

Orion straightened up and beckoned the boy into the fireplace, "Knockturn Alley Sirius. I'm sure I needn't remind you that your Mother does not like to be kept waiting."

Standing amongst the flickering magical flames, the boy with long black hair uttered his destination and watched his father's looming figure spin into darkness.

The brief stint flying past various grates gave Sirius a chance to think. What was all that about? He only wanted to know if they were going to go to Diagon Alley not listen to some kind of story about disrespecting The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

_Merlin._

Feeling now slightly more dizzy than confused after his spell in the floo network, Sirius stepped out of the fireplace and firmly decided that he much preferred side-along apparition. More accurately, side-along apparition with Uncle Alphard which wasn't preceded by perplexing one-sided arguments and followed by somewhat ash covered trousers.

He looked around the shadowy room surmising he was now at Borgin and Burkes. A theory that was later backed up by the creepy and slightly mummified hand that seemed to be flexing upon its shelf, and the various other dodgy items and implements that cluttered the shops many cabinet tops and ledges.

"Sirius!" a woman's voice hissed from somewhere across the shop floor, "Come along."

The tinkle of a bell alerted him to the fact that his mother had just exited the shop and Sirius raced across the room, carefully avoiding a haphazard pile of books on household creatures, possession and mind control, that positively oozed dark magic.

Stepping out onto the cobbled street Sirius tried to ignore his mother's disdainful glare and offered a nonchalant shrug in response to Regulus' questioning gaze.

"Your father and I have some business to attend to with Mr Borgin. You two will stand here, outside the window where I can see you. You will not go wandering off and you will not talk to anyone, do I make myself clear?" Walburga Black spoke sharply.

"Yes Mother," replied Regulus immediately.

Sirius offered the vulture like woman the same response.

They both watched her re-enter the shady looking shop. Always one to seize an opportunity, Sirius slung off his jacket and began rolling his sleeves up. "I'm absolutely boiling, how can you still keep that thing on?" he asked his brother, nodding at the V-neck cardigan underneath his suit.

"Mother's not going to like that Sirius," Regulus replied ignoring his sibling's question, "You should put that back on."

"Reg, it's the middle of August. I am not wearing a bloody jacket around."

Regulus raised an eyebrow, "If you say so. What took you so long anyway?"

The older boy pressed his face up against the glass of the shop window, noticing that his parents were stood in front of the counter. His Mother was pointing at the awkwardly placed pile of books on the floor, and his father was in avid discussion with Mr Borgin. Turning and leaning his back against the glass he gave another shrug, "Just the usual. It was actually pretty stupid really, I only wanted to know why we were coming here..."

* * *

Two hours later, the Black family –containing one thoroughly admonished and now jacket wearing Sirius - walked the packed streets of Diagon Alley.

His Mother had already engaged in an argument with Madam Malkin the robe fitter for not selling robes already emblazoned with the Slytherin house crest. And amongst claims of, "My son is the heir to The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, he will be needing robes with your finest emerald piping," and "This is the 1970s, how can you still only be selling them in plain black?" Sirius left the shop feeling quite embarrassed.

His embarrassment reached new heights when his Mother stared down a rather skinny and timid looking boy leaving Madam Malkins. If he hadn't seen the sandy haired child previously enter the shop with two thin scratches across his face, he would have almost suspected his mother of putting them there herself considering the foul mood she was in.

Regrettably for Sirius, this bust up at Madam Malkin's had meant taking their custom elsewhere. Elsewhere being Twilfit and Tattings, possibly the most elitist, snobby and stuck up shop that existed in Diagon Alley. He was poked and prodded by various pins and tapes in order to get the 'perfect fit' for his school robes.

It was bad enough having a surname that associated you with one of the most notable pureblood families in Wizarding Britain, a surname that would no doubt get plenty of recognition at Hogwarts. But these robes were something else.

_Sweet Circe, these robes._ They were made of some kind of silk or satin or something, when the light struck them it looked as though they were made from deep rippling water. Sirius knew he would be mocked to hell and back if he showed up to Hogwarts in a set of robes as grand as these for day to day use. He looked like a right prat and there was nothing he could do about it.

He would have to look up and start practicing some 'dulling charms' if he didn't want to been seen as some kind of pompous prince of Slytherin come September. _Merlin_.

* * *

They were now queuing in Flourish and Blotts and had Sirius a) been a book person, b) not been to Flourish and Blotts before, and c) not had a significantly sized library within his own home, he would have been very impressed.

Unfortunately, after already having to stand outside a shop window for the best part of an hour, be shouted at in the street and be related to people that seemed to relish scaring children and adults alike, Sirius found himself in a relatively dispassionate mood.

He observed quietly as his parents attempted to maintain their air of upperclassmanship amongst the bustling array of witches, wizards and muggles alike.

Regrettably a pretty girl with long auburn hair stood directly in front of them in the queue and whole Black family happened to overhear her exclaim rather excitedly "Isn't this all just wonderful! I can't believe a world for witches and wizards really does exits. It's simply magic!"

Mrs Black's nostrils flared. And she eyed the ginger haired girl as if she were giving off a particularly bad smell.

Taking a step back slightly from the Muggle family, she turned to her husband and stated in a harsh whisper that seemed to carry around the room, "Can you believe it, Orion? Not only are they allowing the mudbloods access to the wizarding world, but also their filthy muggle parents. Disgusting!"

Sirius watched helplessy, eyes bulging as his father contributed to the conversation in the booming baritone that could be heard around the whole of London let alone the cramped book shop, "Despicable, they're worse than animals, breeding into our world and polluting our establishments, with their strange mudblood tendencies and customs.

"You know," he continued, fully aware that a large proportion of the shop were now staring at him, including the rather shocked redhead and her parents, "I was speaking to Abraxas the other day, and he is thinking of petitioning for Hogwarts to become a firmly wizarding only school. No more namby-pamby mudblood equality system like that crackpot old fool Dumbledore has at the minute."

"Yes, yes," Walburga agreed, "I don't want him," she took a moment to nod in Sirius' direction, "To be dragged down into the filth amongst the likes of these."

Sirius decided now would be a most opportune moment to stare hard at the reflection in his shoes, and pretend he wasn't associated with the two adults stood directly behind him - even though one of them had a firm vice like grip on his shoulder.

He could feel the confused and slightly hurt glare of the muggleborn witch burning into the top of his head.

_Where is your pride man, since when have you ever hidden away when faced with an uncomfortable situation. Man up, this has nothing- okay, this has only a small amount to do with you. You're not the one who said anything._

Frowning at his shiny, shiny shoes Sirius sighed and looked her right in the eyes. Grey briefly clashed with green, before Sirius thrust out his chin and stated resolutely over the top of her head.

As much as Sirius disagreed with pretty much everything his parents said, he still had his own pride to maintain, and he wouldn't let their bigoted comments let him look like a fool in front of some muggleborn he didn't even know. He was a Black for Merlins sake.

That's why, after her eyes widened in further shock at his sheer audacity to fix her with a fierce glance, he allowed a small smirk to play on his lips.

* * *

After the commotion surrounding them had died down, Sirius eventually reached the front of the queue and was able to buy his school books.

On nearing the exit, he politely asked his father if he could take five minutes to browse the book shop, as a title named 'Noteable Pureblood Heritage Throughout the Ages' had taken his eye earlier. Orion gave his son a curt nod, permitting Sirius to look for it quickly and providing that he let Regulus go with him.

"So where's this book then?" his brother asked curiously.

"What book?"

"You know, Noteable Pureblood Heritage Throughout the Ages?" he asked again, cocking his head.

"Oh! That! It doesn't actually exist. Well, as far as I'm aware anyway. I just made it up so I could take a look at the automobile section without them knowing," shrugged the older boy.

"Oh," replied Regulus somewhat perplexed, "That was clever. I bet that book would've have been quite interesting though. We might've been in it!"

"Pureblood Wizarding Heritage? Eugh no thanks, I'm..." Sirius said, skimming his fingers across the spines of many hardbacks and paperbacks alike, "Looking for..."

He browsed for a few moments longer, until he finally extracted a rather thin book from a bottom row of shelves.

"...this!"

"A Complete History of Motorcycle's?"

"Yeah, I'm looking for a name. I thought I might have had some good ones in the magazines under my bed, but they don't quite fit."

Sirius stuck his head out of their little alcove at the back of the store, checking for people. Thankfully the Muggle Information Text section of the book shop was relatively quiet, and so Regulus was the only one who saw the older boy discreetly rip out the index page and put it in his pocket.

"Names?"

"Yeah, for my owl. Now come on let's go."

"You still haven't named it?"

"No, not yet. I told you, I haven't found a good one yet." Sirius grabbed the smaller boy by the shoulders and steered him past the last row of tomes and out of the door.

They began to approach their parents who were conversing with another couple under the awning of Potage's Cauldron Shop. As the boys drew closer, Sirius recognised the formidable mass of curly black hair belonging to none other than his cousin Bellatrix.

Sirius attempted to swerve around them and head off in a different direction but his plan was foiled when Regulus protested, "Hey, why are we going that way? Mother and Father are over there."

"Shut up stupid," Sirius hissed, but it was too late. She'd seen them.

Leering over Walburga's shoulder, Bellatrix cooed, "Well if it isn't little Sirius and Regulus. Starting school soon are we?"

"Oh no, I don't start until next year," gushed the youngest boy walking over to them, "But Sirius only has a couple of weeks left to go!"

The boy in question groaned inwardly.

"What a pity," she retorted icily, "That I've already left, wouldn't it've been lovely to get to spend some time together?"

From the way she was staring at him – which on this occasion was like he was a slab of meat, Sirius assumed the question was rhetorical.

"No matter," she continued, "Narcissa is still attending, along with Andromeda, although fat lot of good she is. I am sure the two of you will be more than capable of reminding the mudbloods where they stand."

Murmurs of approval echoed from his parents and the unknown man stood at Bellatrix's side. Regulus simply stayed quiet and Sirius grimaced at the wicked edge to her voice.

_No, Sirius will not be reminding the mudbloods where they stand._

"That being said, I'm sure we will be seeing you in a matter of months anyway. Rodolphus and I plan to be wed at the beginning of next year." She hooked one arm through the crook of the bearded man's elbow, and extended the other slender hand towards Walburga Black, showing off a magnificent engagement ring.

"My my," Walburga clasped her niece's hand, clearly impressed by the quality of the band, "I knew you Lestrange's were wealthy but I did not know you possessed such... taste."

The previously silent man with the goatee, Sirius now knew to be Rodulphus Lestrange let out a throaty chuckle.

"Cygnus and Druella will be hosting the event, no doubt?" Orion Black interjected.

Bellatrix's eyes flashed and she retracted her hand from her Aunt's grasp. "Yes, they will be. We will also be entertaining some important and honoured guests from the more esteemed pureblood circles, so it is most prudent you all attend."

She gazed down her nose at Sirius, looking as though she wished the invitation was not also extended to the youngest members of the Black family, before adding in an undertone directed purely at Walburga and Orion, "That includes _You-Know-Who_."

Sirius cocked his head, _You-Know-Who? Who was You-Know-Who? Sirius certainly Didn't-Know-Who that was meant to be, some kind of special guest maybe?_

Asking his parent's was out of the question as he was one hundred percent sure that last little snippet of conversation was meant to go unheard by him.

He'd think about that later, he had more important things to think about right now, like finding an appropriate name for his new-ish owl, and surviving the rest of this blasted shopping trip.

* * *

The two couples eventually parted company and Sirius purchased his cauldron, a set of crystal phials, telescope and brass scales without much hassle from either of his parents.

When the four approached Ollivander's, Sirius had all but forgotten about the previous events of the day. Entering alone, he noticed that the room was empty and dark and upon not so close inspection pretty dusty.

Rows upon rows of wand boxes extended as far as the eye could see. A small man with bushy white hair, and even bushier eyebrows busied himself amongst the scraps of paper, quills and inkwells that lay strewn across his desk.

He seemed so intent on his work, that he did not even raise his head in acknowledgement when Sirius entered.

He managed to make it all the way to the counter undetected before eventually coughing out an "Um, excuse me. I'm here to get my wand."

The infamous wand maker did not look up from his desk, but replied cryptically, "Or perhaps Mr Black, the wand is here to choose you."

Sirius stared. He didn't know how to respond to that statement so instead he opted for a simpler, "How did you know who I was?"

Looking up slowly, the aged man raised an unkempt eyebrow, "Mr Black, I myself, along with my father, and his father before him have been supplying your family with wands for well over two centuries. Your wizarding lineage extends almost as far back as my own, I always know a Black when I see one."

Sirius swallowed, "Oh alright then, cool."

"Indeed," he chuckled in reply.

Throwing himself onto his feet, Mr Ollivander marched around to the front section of his shop, "Right handed I presume?"

"Yes."

"Come on then boy, hold it out."

Sirius stuck his right arm out for the elder wizard to measure, "Hmm, interesting," he began to mutter to himself, "something longer than before I feel."

He darted to the back of the shop leaving Sirius standing alone with one arm still raised. He returned after a short time and beckoned the boy forward to his counter. "Try this, Walnut and Dragon Heartstring, 13 inches, reasonably unyielding."

Sirius took the length of wood in his hand. He felt something stir within him, but it quickly evaporated, leaving him unable to conjure much at all when Mr Ollivander prompted him to do so.

"Hmm," the man muttered again, "Too short, too short, the heart is in the right place, it is the body that's wrong."

Disappearing again, and returning moments later he handed Sirius another wand; this one was longer with a more intricate design than the previous. "Hawthorne and Dragon Heartstring, 15 inches, reasonably springy."

Sirius took the wand from Ollivander, and couldn't help a grin from spreading over his face. Warmth spread from his fingertips to every section of his body, and he had the overwhelming urge to wave the wand around.

Doing just that, Sirius flourished the stick of wood at a ball of crumpled paper on the wandmaker's desk and barked out a laugh of joy when it remoulded itself into a paper aeroplane.

"I do believe this is the wand for you Mr Black," Ollivander smiled as he began to prepare the packaging, "A wand which will no doubt be very beneficial in transfiguration...and..." he frowned, "...sparring. I feel it already has a very strong allegiance to you. Do not abuse its trust."

"No sir!" Sirius beamed.

After twirling it over in his fingers a few more times, tracing the complex swirling patterns that ran from the handle to the tip, Sirius reluctantly handed over his newly acquired wand to be properly boxed and wrapped.

The older man gazed over the boys shoulder out into the street, "I do believe your family are waiting for you."

Sirius turned to look at the three smartly dressed figures outside the window, "Yeah, looks like it."

Returning the wand, now properly boxed with an accompanying wand care manual, Ollivander allowed a true smile to touch his lips, "Then I feel I should give this back to you. That wand will serve you well Mr Black. Enjoy it."

"Oh don't you worry Sir, I will."

Okay! Longest chapter yet! I hope you enjoyed it, three or maybe four more chapters to go before the real adventures begin. Reviews, comments, critiques, greetings - all are welcome. See you shortly - Remus next.


	7. A Werewolf in London

_**"No one has yet realised the wealth of sympathy, the kindness and generosity hidden in the soul of a child. The effort of every true education should be to unlock that treasure." **_

_-Emma Goldman_

* * *

If someone had asked Remus Lupin what he thought the very first time he'd visited Diagon Alley, he'd have probably just blurted out 'Magic!'

If someone had asked him what he thought of Diagon Alley without being such a cliché, he would instead have taken a moment to drink in the atmosphere, before eventually fixing them with a growing smile and saying, "One word?"

"One word," John Lupin replied grinning down at him.

Remus closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, "Supercali-fragilistic-expialidocious."

"You know," chuckled his father as they stepped away from the brick wall that separated Diagon Alley from The Leaky Cauldron, "You're very lucky I watched those Muggle films with you and your Mother, otherwise I might have been tempted to just say 'bless you' and ask you again. What's that one, The Sound of Music?"

"No John dear, it's Mary Poppins," Marie murmured. It seemed her reply had been purely instinctive as she, like Remus was now staring down the bustling cobbled street with a look of wonder spread across her face.

"Ah, now that Mary Poppins really was magic. The undetectable extension charm she had on that bag was very well placed indeed..."

John Lupin trailed off; quickly realising his family were no longer fully listening to a word he was saying. Their attention diverted to the busy street in front of them.

Scores of flamboyantly dressed witches and wizards wandered freely throughout the street, which was alive with positive energy.

Pleasant smells wafted up from various stalls and stands, peals of laughter and happy chatter echoed through the alleyway and the sunlight refracted off the shop fronts casting extraordinary colours and patterns along the cobbles.

For Remus in particular it was like a sensory overload, not that he was complaining in this instance. It was fantastic!

The three stood for a while at the very entrance to Diagon Alley, Mother and child marvelling at the scene unfolding before their eyes and John Lupin taking a blissful moment to watch his wife and son be completely worry free.

Eventually he broke the silence, "Come on then, we've got a lot of stuff to get."

Remus looked up at his father, a rare truly happy smile painted on his face. "Where to first?"

The older man looked down at the battered watch on his right wrist, "I make it 11 o'clock, so I reckon we could either get Flourish & Blotts done before lunch, or alternatively we could save it for last. I know how long you're going to want to peruse the shelves," he laughed. "This is your day Remus, it's really up to you."

Remus thought for a moment, deliberating whether to save the best until last or be indulgent for a change and dive straight into the towering book shop.

It seemed in the end, Remus was too set in his ways. "I'd like to save Flourish & Blotts until last please."

His mother nodded appreciatively, it was clear where the boy had inherited his love of books. "Would any one mind going into that shop over there then?" She asked pointing towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "I've been dying to see if you wizards make clothing any differently to how we do," she added smiling at Remus.

Remus linked hands with his mother and she gave his a friendly squeeze before they both trotted off after her husband into the busy throng. The three walked a short way down the cobbled road, falling into step behind a very well dressed, dark haired family of four.

They watched the man and woman enter the shop accompanied by their two children and were right about to follow them inside until Marie spotted a charmed mannequin in the window wearing a lovely set of dress robes. She just had to stop and take a look.

Remus also took a moment to peer into the window, but unlike his mother he was confronted by his own reflection rather than the ability to see straight through the clear glass onto the display behind. He extracted his hand slowly from his mothers and raised it to his face, tracing the two thin raised lines running diagonally from his left eyebrow to the right corner of his mouth; a gift from the latest full moon.

Averting her gaze from the silken gown, Marie Lupin reached down and again took Remus' hand in her own. She used her free hand to sweep his long fringe away from his eyes. "Honestly Remus, it's hardly noticeable, please don't fret dear."

"Yes son, if we see anyone I know, I'm sure we can think of something to tell them," his father added with a tired smile that lacked it's usual conviction. Although, so did most conversations that involved Remus' illness.

Remus nodded once, and tried hard not to catch his reflection in the window again as Mr Lupin pushed open the wooden door, allowing them to enter.

The room was surprisingly large in comparison to its tall, narrow and exceedingly crooked exterior. There were two small podiums surrounded by multiple pin cushions, measuring tapes and various scraps of coloured fabric towards the back of the room.

One wall was entirely covered by rolls of fabrics, ranging from the traditional black, through to navy and mauve, and right up to the most glittering golds and sparkling silvers. There were even fabrics that seemed to change colour depending on which angle you were viewing them from.

The far side of the shop however attracted Remus' attention the most. Standing in front of who Remus assumed was Madam Malkin - a middle aged witch with greying brown hair swept up in a loose bun - were the family who had entered the shop before them.

One of the boys was standing slightly to one side and watched them enter; he surveyed them with steady grey eyes but quickly looked away from the three Lupin's when his mother's voice which was increasing in pitch and volume reached it's crescendo.

It seemed the highly strung woman was in the middle of a heated discussion with the robe fitter and Remus caught the tail end of a sentence along the lines of: "How can you still be magicking them to affiliate with a house _after_ the sorting! This is preposterous, I will most certainly be taking my custom elsewhere you filthy..."

He exchanged wide eyed looks with his mother and father before they once again diverted their attention back to the ongoing feud before them.

The three stood awkwardly for a few moments more, until with a mighty "Harrumph" the woman stormed past them and out onto the street, but not before looking down her nose at Remus and casting him a very bitter glare.

He gulped and sidestepped the large, domineering man and two other males that were following closely in her wake.

One very ruffled Madam Malkin rushed forwards after them, closing the door firmly on the heel of the oldest boy. "I'm ever so sorry about that!" She gushed. "Some people have no manners."

She shook her head and sighed, a few strands of hair coming free from its fastening. "I can assure you we offer a very high standard of robe here and any questions or concerns you have will be answered to the best of my ability."

"No doubt of it Madam," John Lupin smiled politely, "My son here is in need of some school robes."

The plump woman nodded and her small mouth turned up at the corners, "Well let's see what we can do for you then, first year if I'm correct?"

Remus' father's large hand squeezed his shoulder in encouragement and Remus changed his brief nod into a hoarse "Yes."

She beckoned him over to one of the two podiums situated near the back of the room and offered Remus a friendly hand as he stepped onto it.

The woman collected a pin cushion and a tape measure, placing the former next to where the boy was now stood a foot above everyone else and started to extend the latter. "Oh blast," she muttered. "This is the wrong one, please excuse me for a moment while I go into the back and get my new measure."

John Lupin, who had been patrolling the edges of the room with his hands in his pockets attempting to look nonchalant, slipped past the silk curtain after the witch leaving his wife to engage their son with idle chit chat.

He approached Madam Malkin slowly in the back room, not wishing to appear rude or intimidating especially seeing as he'd snuck into a 'staff only' section of the shop.

He coughed gently into his hand, "Excuse me, I'm ever so sorry for following you back here but I have something I wish to ask you... privately."

The witch who had been somewhat startled by Mr Lupin's sudden appearance in the back of her shop, calmed quickly as she listened to his dilemma.

"I'm sorry Mr Lupin, but I just can't do discounts; what you see on the ticket is what you pay and that rule applies to all my customers I'm afraid. The best I can do is let you take a look at the second hand robes. They're quite a bit cheaper than our new robes, and I'm sure after they've been adjusted you would be able to make them look almost as good as new."

The man listened as she talked and searched for her missing tape measure, wishing that his son didn't have to have second hand school robes.

The alternative she presented him with was really the only option he had, and he hoped that Madam Malkin's second hand robes were still good quality like the rest of her clothing.

He thanked her nonetheless and they re-entered the main room. "Oh, could do the fitting without making it too apparent that the robes are second hand? The last thing I want is for Remus to start fretting about money."

She nodded solemnly, "Of course."

Thirty minutes later, after trying on only a few different robes and having them altered by magic at a very quick and precise rate indeed, Remus was one step closer to getting to Hogwarts.

Thankfully, with everything in the clothing department being second hand, the Lupin's were not too out of pocket. John knew this particular investment was the only one that would leave him with any kind of financial leeway.

There was no way of procuring second hand course books without it being obvious not only to Remus, but to his school mates when term kicked off; there was also no such thing as a second hand cauldron, and being the only wizard in Remus' immediate family meant there was no wand to possibly pass down.

Overall they were pleased with the quality of the robes; one looked as though it had never been worn; one had a small stain on the left cuff - which unfortunately couldn't be removed by magic, but Marie was determined to try and scrub it off the Muggle way. And the last was in pretty good condition if only a bit more grey than black, but that could (hopefully) be rectified by some of Mrs Lupin's dying skills.

It was nearing 12 o'clock when they bid farewell to Madam Malkin laden with their clothing purchases.

"Potage's and the Potion's stuff next?" asked Remus' father. "Then a spot of lunch, followed by Ollivander's and Flourish & Blott's?"

Remus' stomach clenched at the thought of Ollivander's. He couldn't work out if it was a feeling of nervousness or excitement, but he agreed enthusiastically to his Father's plan either way.

After some more shopping and a bite to eat back at The Leaky Cauldron, John, Marie and Remus were enjoying a pleasant stroll down to the south side of Diagon Alley and towards Ollivander's. The sun was high in the sky on this summer's day, and the street was even more crowded than it had been two hours earlier, a feat which at the time had seemed impossible.

Remus was glad he had opted to wear a long sleeved shirt underneath his slightly baggy woollen jumper as it meant he could take the top layer off without exposing any of the scratches and nicks that covered his arms. He slid one of the shopping bags onto the crook of his elbow and wrapped his patchy jumper around his waist.

The cobbles leading to this particular area of the alley were well worn. Remus could practically hear his soft footfalls echoing in the steps of hundreds of young witches and wizards before him. He wondered however, as he and his parents neared their destination, if any of them had been quite like him.

He doubted it. The more he thought about it in fact, the more he wondered if Werewolves were even allowed wands.

Remus tried to think logically about the situation, Professor McGonagall wouldn't have come to his house five months ago to tell him he was allowed to go to Hogwarts if he couldn't even get a wand.

But no matter how easy it was to create rational and sensible conclusions to every possible dilemma he created in his head, he still couldn't shake the niggling feeling of self doubt that seemed to creep inside of him when he wasn't looking.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a loud "Whoop!" and raucous laughter. "Hahahaha did you see what happened with that first one dad! Mr Ollivander looked so shocked. I swear I didn't mean for it to happen!"

They boy making all the noise was exiting Ollivander's and brandishing a thin strip of wood in his right hand.

The older couple exiting behind him were shaking their heads, although not in a disapproving manner, more in quiet amusement. Although the woman did let out a slightly alarmed shout when the boy's wand started issuing sparks from its tip.

"James! Be careful where you're waving that thing! I don't want you taking someone's eye out, you've only had it five minutes!"

"Hahaha sorry Mum, it's just so... cool!" The boy sprinted a short way down the road flourishing his wand only slightly less enthusiastically than before, almost tripping over his own or possibly John Lupin's feet as he went.

The elder couple strode down the street after him, the man offering Remus' father an eye roll and a hearty "Sorry about that, you know what they get like this time of the year!"

Mr Lupin snorted and nodded appreciatively, "Ready to go and get yours Remus?"

He didn't wait for a reply - which likely would've been an audible gulp and brief dip of Remus' head - and instead held the door open once again for his wife and son, inviting them into the shadowy shop.

The two adults hung back near the doorway, ushering Remus gently towards the elderly man with white hair a few feet in front of them. Remus plucked up his courage and approached Mr Ollivander who was eyeing him from the other side of the counter.

"Um, hello," Remus offered quietly.

"Good afternoon my boy," the man countered with a slight quirk of his eyebrow.

"I erm, I'm starting Hogwarts this year... so would you be able to um, match me with a wand? Please."

The elder wand maker, who had been watching him speculatively from the behind the counter clapped his hands together suddenly – causing Remus to start. "Marvellous my boy, marvellous, put so eloquently. A very nice request indeed, let us see what we can do shall we?

"You are, I assume," he furthered as he beckoned Remus closer to the desk, "right handed?"

Remus nodded dumbly.

"Then please present me with your wand arm."

Remus extended his arm so that it was perpendicular to his body. In return Mr Ollivander leaned precariously over his desk and snapped out his tape measure. The rule reached from Remus' armpit and down to the tips of his fingers, before the man took it back for inspection.

"Just as I thought," he murmured to himself, "A nice length."

Then as an afterthought he added, "Or maybe slightly longer," before stalking into the bowels of his shop where the dust was thick and the wand boxes towered higher than anywhere else.

He returned a few minutes later arms laden with boxes. "I feel you may be trickier than my previous customer, but nonetheless your wand is in here somewhere. I know it."

He presented Remus with his first wand, offering a brief description of its core, wood and length. The boy took it in his hand and held it there.

"Well go on then!" Ollivander encouraged. "Give it a wave!"

Remus blinked a few times then gave the wand a small swish back and forth. Nothing.

"No matter," said the wand maker, "Try this one."

This process continued in a similar fashion for at least five more wands. Some, like the first had absolutely no effect while others had a somewhat more forceful effect that resulted in a smashed vase and a small avalanche of wand boxes from somewhere over Mr Ollivander's shoulder.

Remus was starting to lose hope, half tempted to just refuse the seventh wand and let his self doubt swallow him whole.

Of course Remus had not been brought up to be a rude child and accepted yet another wand. This one, according to the older wizard was 14 inches, willow and unicorn hair. The wood was a light tan at the tip, tapering into a deeper, richer brown further up the wand until it met its conclusion in a gently dappled globe at the end.

This one felt different. This one felt like an old friend. A friend that wouldn't judge him because of what he was. A friend that he could always rely on no matter what.

Remus felt the warmth from the wood spread from his finger tips all the way through his body. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood up, and a shiver ran through him. This was a welcome shiver though, not one to do with the cold but one due to anticipation and excitement.

Ollivander also seemed to sense something special with this wand. He surveyed Remus from above his finger tips, which he had brought to rest just under his nose in a gesture of contemplation.

He inclined his head towards the young boy, inviting him to give the wand a flourish just as he had with a previous six. Remus waved it in the general vicinity of the wand maker's desk, and was pleased to see after it issued a gentle stream of blue sparks, that the vase he had previously smashed by accident repaired itself.

A timid smile started to spread across Remus' face and his usually tired eyes seemed to come alive. He was starting to feel like he really did belong in the wizarding world.

"Nicely done my boy!" Ollivander applauded, his hands coming together for a second time during Remus' visit to the shop.

Remus let out a long breath that he didn't even know he had been holding and before he knew it his mother and father had come up behind him.

As he handed the wand back to Mr Ollivander to be boxed and wrapped, his mother leaned down to whisper fondly in his ear, "Now that really was magic!"

John Lupin engaged in friendly conversation with the older man as they prepared to leave the shop. It seemed that the wand maker really did remember every wand he'd ever sold and was pleased to see that his Father's wand was still in good condition despite the many years that had passed since he had bought it.

They exited the store with gracious thank you's and broad smiles and spent the journey back up the alley reminiscing about the events that had happened mere moments ago.

Remus of course did not indulge with his parents that he had started to panic after his third wand try and instead shared in their delight as they discussed his rather humorous mishaps and ultimately his triumph.

The newfound happiness that burned inside Remus escalated when he entered the immense bookshop. It smelled wonderful, and if there was one thing Remus liked more than the smell of chocolate, it was the smell of a good book.

The queue was unsurprisingly long, as this was the main place for all Hogwarts students to buy their books. Remus quickly excused himself to go and explore the many different shelves and ledges that surrounded him.

He was browsing through all the tomes on offer for at least 25 minutes before he realised he should probably venture back to the main section of the shop where his parents were waiting.

On his return journey Remus wasn't paying full attention to where he was walking and accidentally knocked into a short chubby boy who promptly dropped the book he was carrying onto Remus' foot.

They both stumbled out fast and earnest apologies and Remus stooped to pick up the boy's book, handing it to him carefully. "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going," he mumbled.

"Sorry for dropping it on you," squeaked the round boy, and then like that he was gone - lost in the tumultuous mass that crowded the inside of the book shop.

He met up with his parents again a few moments later, and was pleased to find they were now nearing the front of the line. He stood with them for the rest of the queue, discussing eagerly all the different genres and types of books he had encountered on his scout around the shop.

They left 10 minutes later, Remus heavily laden with several texts for his upcoming year at Hogwarts and John Lupin's wallet feeling considerably lighter.

He shook his head. It was inevitable, there was no way they could have come out on this trip without finding their savings somewhat dented.

Mr Lupin thought of the reason why his wallet was not as full as it had been this morning and realised that he had absolutely no qualms with it at all. His son was being given a chance at a normal childhood and John wanted that for him whatever the cost.

So instead of frowning when he found his pockets almost empty, he smiled. Clutching the last remaining sickles of the day's spending money, he turned to his wife and son and with an uncommon care free smirk said, "Florean Fortescue's is just up ahead, who wants an ice cream?"

* * *

_**Two more to go until we hit Hogwarts, I hope everyone has had a good time so far! Recognise any familiar faces? James Potter next.**_


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